


And Me… Well, I'm the British Government

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Big Brother Mycroft, Brother Feels, Concussions, Gen, Hurt!Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Inept Criminals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5332475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I want Mycroft and Sherlock to get abducted by a criminal who's plan isn't very well thought out, no serious "we're gonna die" situation, just more or less waiting for the police cos Sherlock has a GPS transmitter and they're gonna get rescued sometime in the foreseeable future, but it's cold so they sit together and eventually Mycroft gets Sherlock talking. Just let them have a brotherly conversation without the political crap that Mycroft pulls and without Sherlock being snarky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Me… Well, I'm the British Government

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】And Me… Well, I'm the British Government](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6709663) by [HailTheTranslationParty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HailTheTranslationParty/pseuds/HailTheTranslationParty)



Sherlock woke with a blazing headache, an enormous thirst and the knowledge that something was very much wrong. He was lying on a cold floor with his head in someone's lap. Cracking open his eyes, he looked up, only to see Mycroft gazing down at him with concern.

“Mycroft?” He was more than confused. “What's going on?” Realisation hit him square in the face when he came to terms with being in his older brother's lap. He tried to sit up suddenly, but the strong grip of the British Government's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Stop it, little brother, you've got concussion. I checked while you were unconscious.”

Sherlock let his eyes drop shut despite himself. He was under no illusion that they were safe, but the room was spinning and his stomach was decidedly unhappy.

“We've been abducted by idiots,” Mycroft informed his brother.” They took our phones, but didn't bother turning them off or even disabling GPS location.” He laughed. “I watched them toss the phones on a table.”

Sherlock sighed. “So we just sit tight.”

“Yes, baby brother, and you need to stay awake until help arrives.”

“But I'm tired.”

Mycroft frowned. Sherlock was obviously not thinking. Without really realising what he was doing Sherlock snuggled into his brother's lap and closed his eyes again. Mycroft roughly ran his hands through his curls.

“Mycie, stop-”

“Why?”

“Head hurts,” he mumbled.

“You need to stay awake, Sherlock, don't sleep.”

Sherlock's only reply was a small huff, and his eyes remained closed.

Working an arm under his brother's shoulders, Mycroft tried to lift him so that he was sitting. “Come on, Sherlock. Sit up for me,” he urged.

“No,” he moaned and wrapped his arms around his brother's waist.

Mycroft couldn't help but smile down at him. He used to do this when they were little; it was the only way Sherlock would sleep.

“Please, Sherlock,” Mycroft's breath hitched. “You know how concussion works.”

Grudgingly, Sherlock let his brother help him to sit, but he leant against him, his head falling against Mycroft's shoulder. “'M cold, Mycie.”

Mycroft jostled his brother as he took off his jacket. “I'm not surprised, Sherlock. They took that Belstaff of yours. Here you go.” As Sherlock leant forward, Mycroft draped his jacket around his brother, then held him close.

“I want my coat back,” the detective groused and settled into his brother's arms.

Mycroft laughed slightly. “You know, I always hated that coat. But it's starting to grow on me.”

“You bought it for me. When I came out of rehab.”

“You snatched it off me and stormed off.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked about the room, taking in their surroundings. “I was angry. You know that. It seemed like you were trying to control my life.”

“I was controlling your life, Sherlock.” Mycroft said it with conviction, but his little brother's head rocked against his shoulder.

“You saved my life.”

Mycroft's eyes burned, so he blinked them a few times. There must have been something in the air that had irritated them. He gave Sherlock's shoulders a squeeze. “John should have noticed you missing by now, don't you think?”

The detective didn't answer.

“'Lock…”

“We rowed,” he said quietly.

Mycroft sighed. “About?”

“Me running headfirst into danger all the time… at least that's what I think it's about. What about Greg?”

“You rowed with John?” Mycroft ignored the question.

“He brought it up.”

“And?”

“Stood there while I shouted abuse.”

“Then he went for a walk, no doubt,” Mycroft commented dryly.

Sherlock's hum of agreement was cut off as he bent forward, his stomach heaving. Mycroft shifted around so he could rub Sherlock's back as he was sick. Simple sign of concussion, he should have seen this coming. Sherlock finally sat back, but his head hit the wall as he groaned, his eyes falling shut.

The government official shock his head as if to clear it, but then noticed what Sherlock was doing. He slapped him lightly, “Sherlock, don't sleep… Sherlock!” He noticed the sink in the corner and with a quick look round made his way towards it. Water would almost definitely wake him up and then he'd want to rinse his mouth out.

Sherlock started then spluttered at the sensation of a hand tracing water across his brow. His hand came up, grasping Mycroft's wrist in a painful grip. “Mycroft,” he sighed in recognition, letting him go. “Where are we? What's going on?”

The elder Holmes brushed his brother's errant curls from his forehead. “We've been abducted, 'Lock. You don't remember?”

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and shook his head.

Mycroft held the water up in a glass, it was filthy, but it would do for now. Sherlock sipped out of it.

“Don’t swallow, Sherlock. Spit it out. What is the last thing you do remember?”

“I rowed with John.”

“Okay, 'Lock. So the short version. Our abductors are idiots. They took our phones, but left them on, so Greg can trace them.” He sighed, “And you have concussion.”

Sherlock's eyes dropped. “Greg'll be at the pub with John.”

“Very likely. They do tend to meet there when one of us had rowed with either of them.”

“You and Lestrade never row.” The detective forced a smile.

“John never rows. It's you.”

Sherlock sighed. “I know. I can't help myself.”

“He's just trying to protect you.”

“And that makes me feel even worse.” He filled his mouth with the rest of the water and spat it out to his side, trying to rinse his mouth out. “Have you tried to get out?”

“Obviously. The moron's have guns, I was all up for it, but you had to collide your head with a fist. I can hardly fight my way out and carry you.”

“I'll be fine.” Sherlock suddenly stood up on shaky legs, he didn't stay upright for long as his legs gave way and he collapsed to his knees, just narrowly avoiding the bile all over the floor.

“What do they even want?” Sherlock croaked quietly, falling forward into his brother's arms.

“Well,” Mycroft began, “Everything is quiet in my arena, so I imagine that it must be related to your latest case.”

Stubbornly, Sherlock managed to stand and walk unsteadily to the door. “Of course. I was getting too close and had to be stopped, but why involve you?” The door was indeed locked and didn't yield to his prodding any more than it had to Mycroft's.

The elder Holmes reminded himself that his brother was concussed. “I imagine they'll get around to threatening Gregory at some point.” He waved his hand in the air. “You know, a 'back off or your boyfriend gets it' type of thing.”

“In that case they really are idiots. I've already told Lestrade my-” Sherlock cut off and wavered where he stood. He put his hand up and steadied himself against the wall. Mycroft saw his head tilt to one side, and saw him keeling over in his head before it happened in real life so in a second he was there grabbing his brother from mid-air as he fainted.

As Mycroft eased his brother to the floor, he noticed the handle on the door turning. He tried, but couldn't move Sherlock out of harm's way fast enough. The heavy metal door was shoved open abruptly and crashed into the unconscious man's legs. Immediately Mycroft stood up, squaring up to the morons on the other side of the door.

“Piss off,” he growled. A gun appeared inches from Mycroft's face. He tensed slightly, but just hissed at them. “If he is hurt in any way, when you've already given him concussion, they will never find your bodies.”

The git actually laughed and then a deduction hit Mycroft, it was so apparent, he took a step back. He shook himself out of it and crouched down to pick Sherlock up, ignoring the gun.  “You may know who Sherlock is, but you have absolutely no idea who I am, do you?”

'Gun man' barked a laugh. “We know exactly who you are. You're that no good pig's boyfriend. He won't dare come after us, not as long as we have you.

Mycroft lowered his brother to the floor the other side of the room, of course they were followed.

Sherlock groaned and his eyes opened a crack. He must not have been as out of it as Mycroft had thought. “God, Mycie. You told me they were idiots, but I had no idea how deep their stupidity ran.” Sherlock found himself choking as 'gun man' knelt down and wedged the muzzle of his gun under his chin.

Mycroft took a deep breath. “Back off now, or I will not be responsible for my actions.”

Sherlock's eyes widened, but not at the gun, that was an everyday thing, no, his eyes widened at Mycroft's protectiveness. He felt a hand run through his hair, his brother's hand.

This would have been easy to get out of if Sherlock wasn't so concussed, but if Mycroft picked a fight, one of them could get hurt, Sherlock could get hurt.

“So you know who my boyfriend is. Do you know who his is?” Mycroft indicated Sherlock with a tilt of his head.

“Some deadbeat doctor.”

Mycroft could not believe his baby brother sometimes, there he was, laid out in his lap, severely concussed with a gun shoved beneath his chin and he had just kicked 'gun man' in the bollocks. Hard.

“Shh,” he soothed as Sherlock whined in pain; his head must have been throbbing. “His boyfriend is an ex-army captain, and a doctor. Now my boyfriend, yes, he's a copper, he's a copper responsible for some of the biggest crime interventions this side of the channel, and me… well, I'm the British Government.”

Sherlock laughed pitifully, wincing at the pain it caused. “That's the first time I've ever heard you admit it, Mycie.”

“There's a first time for everything, Sherlock.”

'Gun man' still hadn't fully recovered, but he managed to keep the gun pointed in their general direction. The other goon was just staring at the Holmes brothers in disbelief.

“Danny,” 'gun man' gasped, “Take the gun. I'm going to teach this one a lesson.” He gestured towards Sherlock.

That's when the mobile phones began ringing in the other room.

Mycroft dropped his gaze to his brother quickly in concern, his eyes were shut and sleep, for once, was the last thing he needed. He lowered Sherlock's head to the floor and made sure he was still covered by his jacket. These two idiots were taking their time.

His eyes were dark when he turned them back on 'no longer gun man'. “Now those phones, some people would call it caring concern, from two uninformed boyfriends. But do you know what I call it?” He asked rhetorically. “I call it a warning.” His arm lurched up and he grabbed 'no longer gun man' by the throat. The door smashed in and there were about 10 cries of “Armed police” as the room filled with coppers all pointing guns at them.

John ran in behind Greg just in time to see the government official punch the one without the gun; knocking him flying into the armed officers. The doctor grinned at the DI and they raced to the middle of the room where Mycroft was now back to cradling his brother's head.

The doctor threw himself to his knees in front of Sherlock, with only a glance up at the older man. Greg was wrapping his arms around him, but he refused to let go of his brother.

“John, it's concussion, but I'm sure some damage has been done to his legs too.”

John moved to take his lover's pulse.

“How long's he been like this?”

“This is the first time he's fallen asleep since he came around about an hour ago. But he's been dazed and confused.”

It almost caused Mycroft physical pain to stand aside and let John climb into the ambulance with his brother, but he would never try to come between them. Besides, John was the only doctor that Sherlock would listen to.

Lestrade placed his hand on Mycroft's shoulder. “He'll be okay. John will see to it.”

“I know, but it's never fun to see him like that.”

Mycroft let Greg guide him towards the black sedan that had pulled up.

The government official couldn't help but think on the last time Sherlock had been in an ambulance, he needed to forget that, that had been his fault. “We're following it.”


End file.
